Unfortunate Luck
by MarinasDragon
Summary: Merlin Ambrose has been unlucky his whole life. It doesn't seem like it can get any worse, but when it does, and Merlin loses everything, he gains with this loss the acquaintance of a mysterious young man - Arthur. As his friendship grows with Arthur, somehow, his misfortune begins to bring about the greatest luck he's ever had. Merthur, MODERN AU.
1. The Pendragons

ONE

* * *

_Beautiful, amazing cover can be found under the name "Warm Merthur" by kneelmortals on DeviantArt! FF, you need to work on allowing links, it is quite irritating to not be able to provide them. *glowers*_

_A/N: According to the vast and often untrue database known as the World Wide Web, Merlin, as his most recognizable reincarnation to the one we know today "first appeared as a combination of the existing stories of Myrddin Wylt (Merlinus Caledonensis), a northern madman with no connection to King Arthur, and the tales of Aurelius Ambroisius, which together formed the figure called Merlin Ambrosius."_

_Ambrosius is quite a mouthful, so I took the liberty of shortening and hopefully slightly modernizing it to "Ambrose."_

* * *

Merlin Ambrose nervously glanced down once again at the tiny slip of paper he clutched as the dull voice of the loudspeaker called out yet more destinations and gate numbers. The barely filled small backpack the dark haired young man clutched to his stomach didn't give any observer the impression he was leaving his life here behind, or the reason he now sat in a uniformly pristine, bland airport.

Merlin himself couldn't believe it either, after living in poverty for most of his life.

A mere month before, he'd never supposed he would ever make a trip like this. His clothes were patched and thinning, his life comprised mainly of drifting from job to job, and his mother had been healthy.

But then she'd caught something. A fever, maybe, but her age and already frail body had worsened the condition. He'd bought all the medicines he could, tried to take her to a doctor, but she'd known as soon as the coughs had started that it was her time.

The last day, she'd stumbled out to the nearest old payphone and with trembling fingers called his latest workplace.

He found her still slumped in the booth when he got home almost an hour later, shivering and burning up.

"Mom? Oh God."

He tried to take her back in, scooping her up, but she stopped him.

"Merlin. Merlin, my baby boy. I…I have a box. You know the box?"

Yes, the old shoebox. It had pictures and memorabilia from happier times, when his father had been alive, when he'd been born, when they hadn't been practically homeless.

"Yes." She kept it next to the stained, ripped old mattress they slept on, though so far as he knew, neither of them had touched it in years. "Yes, Mom. What about it?"

"I didn't want to use it. And I didn't want you to use it on me. I have money, Merlin. For you, I wanted to save for you to go to college. But you can't, not now. What's most important is for you to get out of here, to somewhere where you can get a job and save and maybe start a family. I want you to buy yourself a first class ticket like you deserve and fly to…to that lovely place we used to vacation to, that city, what was it, dear? Camelot. You'll…you'll find the life you need there, Merlin. I know, it was always so magical. Go to Camelot." Her voice was reedy and cracking by the time she finished, and her shivers had turned into full tremors, rattling the old plastic of the booth. She reached up for his forehead, and he let her press a dry kiss to it before the rasp that was her breath stopped.

"Mom?" he'd whispered, unable to believe it, even as the burning liquid in his eyes had dripped to land on her own cold cheek, and the wracking sobs had begun.

He'd bought the ticket, per her dying wish, with astonishing wad of bills he'd found tucked into the old box. He'd gathered all he could from their rundown home. He buried his mother under the scraggly oak on the corner, leaving the broken shovel he'd scavenged by the grave. He'd fashioned a simple cross from the dead branches lying strewn across the crumbling sidewalk and scattered the few wilted daisies he could find across the mound of fresh dirt.

Now Merlin sat in the airport, feeling acutely aware he belonged anywhere but here. He tugged at his scarf, an old red scrap of some piece of clothing his mother had worn. She had liked to tie it around her head to keep back her graying hair, and Merlin couldn't bear to leave it behind.

"Flight 237 to Camelot, second call for first class passengers."

Merlin started, leaping to his feet. He'd missed the first call, he'd been too busy trying to keep the lump in his throat down. He tripped as he got to the line, nearly taking down a woman wheeling a giant pink suitcase behind her. She glared at him as he straightened himself. He felt clumsy and bumbling and too out of place, but other than the suitcase woman, he only caught a few glances directed his way as a flight attendant checked his ticket and he stepped through the gate. All the people who had made it the first call sat in their seats, and Merlin found himself on the receiving end of the many judgmental once-overs he'd been expecting.

He was sitting in row 3. Most of the other passengers were sitting alone, so Merlin stopped in surprise at the man who reclined next to row 3's window, a soft looking cushion around his neck, his eyes closed. His blond hair brushed against his darker tinted eyelashes, and his lightly muscled arms, folded across his chest, rose and fell deeply with his breath.

Merlin carefully stowed his small bag beneath the seat in front of him and sat down in the aisle seat, glancing again at the sleeping man and now noticing the tiny white wires that ran from his ears down to his dark wash jeans' pocket, where an iPhone was tucked. His striped red button up was partly undone, show a small strip of the man's broad chest. Something about him seemed familiar, but Merlin shook the vague recognition off. Surely he didn't know anyone who would be riding in first class.

Merlin wiggled in his seat, trying to get comfortable, wondering how someone could fall asleep as fast as this man appeared to have, especially on a plane. Nothing had even started up yet and Merlin could feel the nerves bubbling in the pit of his stomach as he glanced around at the giant contraption that was somehow supposed to become airborne in the near future.

There were lots of bells and whistles in the first class seats. Merlin's eyes landed on the screen inlaid into the seat in front of him. Pressing the power button, he stared at row upon row of genres it showed after a brief blue screen with the name of the airline, _Pendragon Flight_.

Movies, he realized as he read Disney. He hadn't seen a movie in forever.

"God, are you going to watch a movie already? At least put in some headphones for the rest of us."

Merlin jumped at the annoyed voice and turned to see the blond man glaring at him as he pulled his earbuds out.

"No," Merlin said quickly, pressing the power button again. "I was just looking. Sorry."

"I hope so." The stranger readjusted his neck pillow and stretched out further in his seat.

Merlin, uncomfortable, tried to look away and focus on the slow trickle of passengers walking down the aisle, but he found his gaze wandering back to his row mate, who was now typing on his iPhone. Glancing up as he felt Merlin's gaze on him, he raised an eyebrow. "Flattered as I am by your attention, I'm not interested in giving you my number."

Red rushing to his face as Merlin realized what the man was saying, he hastened to shake his head insistently. "No, no! It's just…I'm just ‒ I'm Merlin," he muttered awkwardly. The man, who had turned back to his phone, rolled his eyes. "Arthur," he sighed, rubbing his temple as he leaned against the window.

Merlin, despite the hostility he was obviously being received with, decided to attempt conversation. "So. Why are you going to Camelot?"

Arthur looked annoyed again, still focusing on whatever he was typing. "Sadly enough, I live there."

"Sadly? Camelot's beautiful!"

Arthur scoffed, finally raising his eyes from the screen to give Merlin a disdainful look. "Beautiful? The only parts of Camelot that have the slightest chance of being regarded as _passably attractive_ are ridiculously touristy, tacky, and expensive as hell. I don't know what you were on when you visited, but Camelot is nowhere near beautiful."

"We used to visit this lake by an old castle, and it was the nicest place in the ‒"

"I know the lake," Arthur interrupted. "It's as tourist-centered as the best of 'em. A sellout is what Camelot is."

He looked inexplicably bitter for a few moments before turning to eye Merlin again. "And what are you planning on doing there? Not vacationing, I hope, it's pathetic as hell to take a vacation there."

"No, I'm moving."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Relatives?"

"Sorry?"

"Are you moving to be near relatives or something? Why would you live there? The only good place is the penthouses up in the hills. Do you have a rich, doting aunt? Getting away from overbearing parents?"

"No…" Merlin could feel his patheticness growing by the minute. He wasn't telling this rude, probably rich guy he'd been penniless and was moving without the faintest idea of where he would go.

"What on earth are you doing, then?"

"I have a hotel room booked until I finalize my purchase of a house." It was a lie. Merlin had no idea where he'd go when he got to Camelot.

"Hm." Arthur leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes again, his interest lost in the conversation.

"Why are you going back if you hate it so much?"

"Good question," Arthur murmured, his eyes fluttering back open as he glanced out the window. "I hope not for a very good reason."

* * *

By the end of the main wave of passengers, a large, loud, bossy woman, her husband, and their whiny, equally loud toddler had taken up the seats across from them, but their luggage seemed to be going elsewhere.

"Ex-_cuse_ me. I'm afraid I have the worst back imaginable so if you wouldn't mind _moving over_…"

The woman practically shoved her giant, human-sized pink suitcase into Merlin's lap, her ridiculously high, girlish voice grating on his ears as he realized it was the same woman that he'd nearly knocked over.

Arthur, busy with his beeping phone, only realized what was happening when Merlin jumped up from his seat and nearly bumped into him. "There's a perfectly good luggage rack above your seat, for God's sake," he scoffed at the woman.

"I have a bad _back_," blustered the woman, her hands fluttering for emphasis.

"Oh hell."

"Is there a problem?" a high-heeled flight attendant coming down the aisle interjected, glancing between Merlin and the large woman looking about ready to smack Arthur.

"Yes," Arthur began, "this idiot won't ‒"

"No," Merlin interrupted, forcing a smile at the attendant, who still wore a, if mildly confused, smile. "There's no problem. We're fine, thanks."

"All right." The suited woman cast them a vaguely skeptical look and clicked back up the aisle.

Arthur glared at him as Merlin took the empty seat next to him and the loud woman sat smugly in her own seat across the aisle.

"What? It doesn't really matter." Merlin sat back.

"Yes, believe it or not, Merlin, it does matter," Arthur snapped.

"No, it doesn't. There was an empty seat anyway."

Arthur sighed. "I suppose you'll understand when you try to sleep."

* * *

Merlin jumped when the cheery female voice finally came over the loudspeaker. "Hello and welcome."

She outlined enough safety protocol for Merlin's stomach butterflies to evolve into stomach pterodactyls, insistently beating their giant wings faster than his heartbeat. He found himself gripping his armrests so hard that his fingers began to ache as the plane started to taxi.

"Hey."

Merlin had plastered his entire body against the back of the chair, but he glanced over, trying to calm his breathing, which was picking up as the engines roared louder.

Arthur was looking at him with a somewhat sympathetic expression.

"Yeah?" Merlin gasped.

"Dude. It's all right. Okay?"

"Okay," Merlin wheezed.

"We're not gonna crash. Yeah?"

"Yeah," the dark haired boy whispered.

Arthur clasped his shoulder. "I've taken these planes a thousand times. We'll be fine. All right?"

Merlin nodded, completely out of breath now.

By the time they reached their intended height in the sky, Merlin's nerves had lessened to one finger tapping lightly against his armrest.

He would have been fine had the cabin not started to bounce slightly.

"Are you all right, sweetie? You look a little green." The same, now encouragingly smiling flight attendant gently touched Merlin's arm.

"He'll be fine."

Both the flight attendant and a queasy Merlin turned to Arthur, who gave Merlin a little grin and turned his attention to the blue-clad woman.

"Get him something."

"I…ah…of course, sir." The woman looked extraordinarily flustered all of a sudden as she did a double take at Arthur, tugging at her neck scarf as she rushed off.

A moment later, she returned, a faint flush in her face, again staring at Arthur, though she clearly spoke to Merlin. "I'm sorry, what would you like?"

Merlin couldn't speak as again the plane hit some turbulence, so Arthur ordered for him.

When Merlin realized he was holding a cup, the pink juice was room temperature and Arthur had finished half of his own dinner.

"No ice." Arthur noticed his companion's blinking down at his cup. "Don't ever get ice in that. It's a tropical juice, hand squeezed by a family owned Camelot company. It's good when you're feeling ill, go on."

Merlin took a cautious sip and found, indeed, his stomach settled slightly.

"Thanks."

Arthur gave a casual shrug, as if he didn't actually care. But Merlin could see the corner of his mouth quirk upwards for a brief moment a grill-marked piece of chicken into it.

* * *

The flight grew tedious as it wore on without distractions, like Arthur and all the other passengers seemed to have. After being growled at for turning on the screen for the first time and without earbuds, Merlin decided he'd rather not take the risk of being reprimanded again and scrunched down in his seat instead. He hadn't thought of bringing books, none of the few his mother had owned had held any meaning or interesting reading material for him, so he'd left them behind. Now he couldn't think of anything else to do.

Sleeping, though he'd have liked to do it, wasn't high on his list. The nervousness he'd been feeling had lessened any chances of shut-eye.

So the waves of sleepiness that began hitting him as the plane droned on and the sunlight and robin egg blue outside the window started to darken to a deep purple took him by some surprise. As his eyes fluttered shut and his head began to drift to the side without him realizing it, Merlin's thoughts floated away.

Of course, waking up wasn't the best experience he'd ever had, with a sour taste in his mouth, his head heavy, and the piece of cold metal and plastic digging into his side didn't add to it.

But he was also leaning into something else, something warm, something he rested his cheek against.

"Finally awake, are you?" came another voice, sounding as drowsy as Merlin felt.

But suddenly he wasn't feeling so drowsy anymore. He sprang back from where he cuddled into his row partner's shoulder only to bang his head on the suitcase behind him.

Arthur, not having moved from where it almost seemed that he, too, had been leaning against Merlin, yawned a lazy smirk at the other man's obvious discomfort.

"S-sorry," Merlin mumbled, gritting his teeth as he rubbed his head.

"Told you that you shouldn't have given up your seat." Arthur rolled his shoulders as suddenly the flight attendant appeared next to the pink suitcase.

"Would you like a pillow, sir? …Sir?" Her eyes darted toward Merlin with slight uncertainty as she glanced back at Arthur, her low whisper questioning.

"Oh, he already found himself a pillow," Arthur snickered as he pulled out his phone again.

The attendant's eyes widened visibly as she turned them back to a pink Merlin. "I…I see."

He watched as she met her fellow attendant up the aisle and began whispering to her as they both surreptitiously glanced back toward Merlin and Arthur. The other woman's mouth was open in a scandal hearing gossip's smile.

"You're looking hot there, Merlin." Arthur leaned on his armrest, watching Merlin over the top of his phone.

"W-what?!"

Arthur's laugh was loud enough that several people shushed him angrily, so he quieted himself, but couldn't hold back the now soundless shaking.

"Warm. A little warm," he whispered. "Now you're about the color of the tomatoes in my salad."

_For good reason._ Merlin folded his arms, feeling sheepish for how flustered he was. Arthur was just teasing him. They had met a mere few hours ago, and in another few hours they'd part ways and never meet again.

Of course, with Merlin's luck, this wasn't to be the case.

* * *

They touched down at one in the morning Camelot time, two hours behind the time zone Merlin was used to. And after the first embarrassing nap, he'd determined that he would remain awake for the entirety of the rest of the flight, no matter what it took.

So now the pauper boy in first class stumbled off the plane, bleary eyed and a little out of his wits. The men and women shoving past him didn't help as he tried to keep his balance. A few directly knocked into him, not even apologizing as they hurried past.

By the time he'd passed baggage claim on his way out to hopefully hail a taxi to the nearest cheap lodgings, he'd woken up enough to reach into his pocket for his wallet.

Only his wallet wasn't in his pocket.

Or his other pocket.

The other two were just as empty.

Merlin desperately threw his pack to the ground, sifting through the meager contents for the ragged little brown pouch, but it wasn't anywhere.

His wallet was gone.

"Oh God," he murmured.

Here he was, in a strange place, his only living relative gone, homeless, at three ‒ one ‒ _three_ in the morning, and his only chance for surviving in the world just…gone.

"What's the matter now, Merlin?"

Merlin looked up through watery eyes to see Arthur standing above him, with a large suitcase and a "too tired but caring anyway" expression.

"I…my wallet's gone." Merlin swiped at his eyes with his already damp sleeve.

Arthur heaved a sigh and held out his hand. "We'll just have to get you to your hotel, won't we?"

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

"I'm…I can't. I'm supposed to pay when I get there. All my money was in my wallet." He should have just told Arthur then that he didn't have a hotel. But for some reason the lie spun on.

The sigh he received now was of a colossal scale, a "you really have fucked up, haven't you" sigh. But Arthur looked resigned as he remained holding out his hand.

"I don't…"

"Shut up, Merlin. We'll figure something out."

* * *

The limo that waited outside was gigantic and shiny, and Merlin started to walk past it, staring, before Arthur grabbed his arm. "Come on."

"What…_that_?"

"Yes," affirmed Arthur impatiently. "I'd like get to bed as soon as humanely possible. Please try not to be an idiot."

So Merlin stepped into the limo, certainly feeling like an idiot for even daring to talk to someone who casually got picked up by a limo as one in the morning, much less inconvenience that limo-user by making them drive him around.

"Sir? Your…friend?"

"Yes, friend." Arthur slammed his door and slumped in his seat, exhaling in tired relief. "You know the hotel. Drive."

"Of course, sir."

As the quiet purr of the limo lulled them, both of the already exhausted men dozed off.

"Here, sir."

"Whatzzit…yes. Oh yes." Arthur jerked awake. "Yes. Merlin."

"Mmm?"

"Come on. Stop being an idiot and wake up."

Merlin was yanked out of the car still only half conscious into the brightly lit interior of some posh building.

"May I help you?" The receptionist looked ridiculously ready to please with a dazzling smile, considering the time.

Merlin yawned and rubbed his eyes with his free arm as her nametag, reading _Karen_ and _Pendragon Inn_. Arthur was still gripping the other tightly.

"Yes. I have a booking, but I'd like to change it to a two bed."

"Your name is…?"

Arthur fished in his pocket and pulled out a credit card, which he slid across the marble counter.

The receptionist picked it up only to echo the flight attendant's expression upon first noticing Arthur. Now the receptionist looked back up at Arthur with giant eyes before practically dropping the card to type something into the computer.

A tired Merlin could only think about the oddness of it for a moment as the woman's furiously typing fingers stopped.

"Uh‒um, yes, sir. Two ‒ I, ah, we don't…" She wilted in her chair. "I'm afraid we don't have any two bed rooms available at this time, sir. They're all taken."

"For God's sake." Arthur slumped onto the counter. "I've come hours and hours to have to put with all this shit. Do I have to go somewhere else?"

The receptionist scrambled to right the situation. "Sir, we can upgrade you to a double bed."

"What the hell," Arthur snarled, with sudden, impressive heat for someone who had been awake for however many hours. "Yeah, that'll make everything better. A double bed. Give me the fucking key, all right?"

"Yes, sir." Meekly the receptionist spun to grab the card key from the wall.

Arthur, still pulling Merlin, stalked up the stairs as she called after them the directions to the room.

The blond man swiped the card and shoved open the door. The bed was in the far end of the room, but in two strides, Arthur had collapsed onto it, yanking Merlin with him.

As Merlin's elbow in his ribcage evidently reminded him with an "oof" that Arthur had company, Arthur roused himself with a glare at the other man.

"Oh the floor. You're not sleeping in my bed."

Merlin stumbled to his feet with mumbled protests to curl on the floor. A blanket and a pillow fell on his head.

"Turn out the light, Merlin."

Merlin sat up, squinting at the nearest light switch, which took up space on the wall right above the headboard of Arthur's bed.

But Arthur only pulled the blankets up to his chin and was apparently falling asleep.

Tiredly, Merlin crawled up onto the dreamily soft mattress, pulling his blanket around his shoulders to reach up for the switch. As the lights clicked off, so did Merlin sinking into the feathery pillows.

* * *

The irritatingly loud jingle of a phone ringtone cut through Merlin's peaceful sleep, insistently picking up as it continued.

"Oh for ‒" Someone stumbled over Merlin's legs and there was a loud _thump_. "_Godda ‒_ Yes, Father?! What is it?"

Merlin rolled over, burying his nose in the clean, soft, nice-smelling pillow as he cracked open an eye to see a ruffled Arthur crouching next to his duffle bag ‒ his now only just buttoned shirt slipping off his shoulder and his hair sticking up in all directions. He was listening to his phone with a incredulous expression as bright sunlight shone into the white room through the only half closed drapes.

"What…? I don't…no, Dad. No, I'm not. Oh, for God's sake! Rumor ‒ no, it's rumor. Gossip. You know how they are, all right? Remember last year when they made your new female head of communications a big thing? You know, I ‒!"

Arthur stopped as the person on the other end shouted unintelligibly at him. His head dropped and he shoved his hand through his already wild hair.

"Yes, sir. I'm still here. Of course, sir. I understand. I'll be more careful. Of course I can completely explain when I get there.

The loud tones of the empty line as the other person hung up filled the room. Merlin felt suddenly uncomfortable with the silence as he realized he shouldn't have been where he was.

Arthur turned on him with narrowed eyes and Merlin shrank back. "I'm sorry, I…"

"Look what you've done."

Merlin stopped as Arthur held the phone out to him with a glare, a text open, and cautiously he took it.

The text was a screenshot of a gossip website, more specifically of an article with a giant, slightly fuzzy cell phone picture just below the headline.

A picture of Merlin sleeping on Arthur's shoulder.

"W-what?" Merlin stammered, and his eyes flashed to the headline.

_PENDRAGON'S SON FINDS LOVE AGAINST HOMOPHOBIC FATHER'S WISHES?_

It hit him like a ton of bricks.

Pendragon, the multi-million dollar mega company known everywhere. Owner of so much more than the airline he'd just flown on, the hotel he'd stayed in… The name on every billboard, the side of every truck, at the end of every commercial around here.

Camelot, their home base.

Arthur, familiar to Merlin because he _did_ know him. Or his face, anyway.

Arthur Pendragon, the son of the head of the entire company, Uther Pendragon.


	2. The Accidental Job Obtaining

TWO

"Oh my God." Merlin fell back into the bed.

"The press is going to murder me. More importantly, my father knows. And he'll do some much worse." Arthur's ticked tone brought Merlin's gaze to his face. The face of the man worth millions of dollars, the promising future of Pendragon Co.

The face now twisted in anger, but it turned to irritated confusion as he noticed Merlin's intense staring.

"What?"

"You're Arthur Pendragon."

"Oh, shut up. That hardly matters right now."

"I just slept in a bed with Arthur Pend ‒"

Merlin was silenced quickly by Arthur's duffle bag to his head.

* * *

"I didn't mean to fall asleep there, you know. I was just really tired."

Merlin and Arthur stood outside the hotel in the parking lot, waiting for the Pendragon's limo, Arthur in a fresh new gray T-shirt and jeans, and Merlin, though wearing his same clothing, at least clean from the giant bathtub's soaps and shampoos.

Arthur had said curtly after the news article incident that he'd drop Merlin somewhere where he could find a job on his way to his own destination, and proceeded to completely ignore him after that.

Merlin, though Arthur was obviously being quite generous, felt inexplicably as if he was about to lose his best friend. So they stood there, Merlin trying to explain himself and Arthur glaring daggers at the passing vehicles silently.

"I kind of couldn't move out of the bed, you know?"

"Yes, you do seem to have a knack for falling asleep in the worst places," Arthur finally snapped. "Just…I'm going for a walk, all right?"

Merlin flopped down beside the little luggage they had, dejectedly examining his bath-softened, still slightly grimy fingernails as Arthur stepped off the curb, stretching.

A few minutes passed as Merlin picked at his nails before the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach began. Something wasn't right. He didn't know what, or how he knew, but he did.

Seeing the gray-shirted figure approaching again, he started to stand, intending to tell Arthur about his curious premonition, glancing up just as a ear deafening, blaring horn sounded.

A giant semi truck filled his vision, brakes locked, tires screeching as it skidded towards Arthur.

Before he knew it, instant adrenaline pumping in his ears, Merlin's legs were propelling him forward, into the path of the massive semi, as he leapt toward Arthur, tackling him out of the way.

They landed hard, Merlin skinning his arms, the semi barely clipping his toes, his chin banging into Arthur's chest as he collapsed on top of him.

For a few long minutes they lay there, both feeling the other's fast fluttering heartbeat.

With a peculiar, secret regret, Merlin rolled off, slowly pushing himself to a standing position with difficulty.

Arthur didn't move, so Merlin held out his hand. Arthur didn't speak, either, as Merlin helped haul him to his feet, and although Merlin couldn't help glancing up at him, he found himself remaining silent as well as they slowly made their way back to the curb and the limo pulled into the lot.

Neither said anything as they climbed into the dark car.

* * *

By the time a few silent hours on the road had passed, the metropolis passing outside the posh car ‒ the tall buildings, bright lights, and neon ‒ had lessened, as the area grew more…rich-seeming. The houses grew up and out in stately, breathtaking antique masterpieces of glass, stone, and wood.

Merlin was glued to the window, staring at the grandeur. Arthur didn't seem to be dropping him off, so where exactly were they going?

As the mansions, too, lessened, and finally vanished altogether, the grass grew even more well trimmed, perfect bushes and exquisite flowers evenly spaced, and a beautiful but tall and intimidating fence began to enclose the property on either sides of the road.

No house was in sight, so Merlin sat back, glancing over at Arthur, who sat back against the seat with his eyes closed and arms crossed. His brow was faintly creased, and he obviously still didn't want to talk to Merlin.

Discouraged and somewhat worried in what exactly had happened so far as well as what _would_ happen, but still in awe of his surroundings, Merlin returned to the window just in time as the limo crested the hill.

The house was gargantuan and amazing, all glass and steel. It stood on the edge of the hills, overlooking the city below and a beautiful lake ‒ the lake Merlin and his mother had visited when he was young. The lake of Avalon.

Merlin caught his breath at the whole thing as they pulled up to the gate. A security guard sat in a booth next to the gate straightened as the driver rolled down his window.

"Mr. Pendragon and guest."

The guard's expression changed only minutely, but Merlin could see his eyes dart toward the tinted windows behind which they sat as he nodded and hit a button for the gates to open and raised a walkie to his lips as they drove on down the long drive.

When they reached the house, two men in red and gold uniforms opened the doors and began removing bags from the trunk. Merlin tried to grab his own tiny backpack, but one of the men removed it from his hands, giving him a brief, deep nod and saying, "I'll take it for you, sir."

Merlin felt uneasy, seeing the pack with all he had left being held by a complete stranger, reaching out for the backpack again. "I really would like to ‒"

He stopped at the sharp movement of someone standing next to him.

Arthur had reached for the pack too, but when their hands had almost met, had yanked them away as if he'd been about to burn himself. He tucked his hands in his pockets as he caught Merlin looking at him and jerked his head toward Merlin at the man holding the backpack. "Give him back the bag. Come on."

The man bowed his head and returned the pack with stuttered apologies as Merlin, with mixed, unsure feelings, hurried after Arthur's quickly receding back.

* * *

The house was a labyrinth of light, art-filled white passages. Merlin couldn't help but stare at every statue, canvas, and odd little art piece that they passed.

Turning a corner, Merlin nearly ran into Arthur, who had stopped and was now talking to a beautiful, pale girl wearing a dark blue bikini top and short cutoff shorts. Her long dark hair fell around her shoulders in perfect soft curls, like a waterfall, but as she smiled up at Arthur, there was something cold in her light eyes.

"‒ to stay this time?" she was saying in a teasing voice.

"You know it's not my decision, Morgana. Father sends me where he needs me to be. I'm not going to go against him."

"Of course you're not, Arthur."

Merlin swallowed as her eyes slid past Arthur's broad shoulders to him, narrowing.

"Who's ‒"

Suddenly, they were widening again as she turned them back to Arthur. "Oh!" She tilted her head. "Is it ‒?"

"No."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not."

She was nodding now, a little self-satisfied smirk curling her lips. "You actually do have something going on. He's going to be furious, you know."

Arthur folded his arms. "He shouldn't, because I don't."

"Whatever you say, Arthur." She flipped her hair as she walked past him, glancing sideways again at Merlin, who felt himself blush as she snickered.

"Who was that?" he muttered as he caught up to Arthur, who'd already started off again at a brisk pace.

"Sister," Arthur allowed in a bland voice.

"Oh." Another Pendragon? Merlin was hardly celebrity obsessed, but he couldn't remember ever hearing about any other Pendragon offspring.

"Half sister," Arthur amended at the confusion in Merlin's tone. "Father tries his best to make sure she stays out of the newspapers, but she models under a pseudonym. He doesn't think she can handle being in charge of anything in the company because she goes against him so much, which is why he named me as his successor."

"And she's okay with that?" Merlin had to jog to keep up with Arthur's long strides.

Arthur shrugged indifferently. "She hasn't said anything to me."

Merlin glanced back.

Somehow, Morgana hadn't struck him as the type to sit back and let others take charge.

* * *

Merlin was intimidated at the sight of the giant doors at a distance, but as he and Arthur drew closer, he felt as if he was almost shrinking in size.

What exactly was he doing here, anyway?

He'd lost his mother, all his money, slept in a stranger's bed, found out that the stranger in question was a famous rich guy, shoved him out of the way of what probably would have been a fatal accident, and was now being towed around in complete silence for…what?

He found himself reaching out as Arthur raised his own hand to knock. The hall was suddenly still as Merlin's briefly brave fingers settled in place around Arthur's hard bicep.

The stillness unnerved him and he suddenly regretted making the warm contact with Arthur's arm as the young heir to an empire looked down at his hand and slowly turned to stare at him.

Merlin's dry throat made the words Arthur waited for a raspy, silent whisper at first, but clearing it made the quiet words perfectly audible.

"What are we…what are you… What's happening, Arthur?"

Their eye contact, unbroken, was intense for a few moments before Arthur turned away, rubbing his jaw.

"I'm figuring this out," he said in a low voice. "I'll figure it out. Fix it."

His echoing knock on the doors made Merlin jump.

"Come in," an impatiently rough voice called from inside, so Arthur grabbed the handles and shoved.

The room was as big as its doors, the luxurious carpet leading down to a giant, imposing desk. The man who stood behind it was staring out the floor to ceiling windows, his graying, sensibly cut hair gleaming in the sunlight that poured in.

He turned to look at them as Arthur took a few carefully measured steps in, standing…almost at attention. Merlin straightened up under the man's piercing gaze as well, swallowing nervously.

"Is this what you bring me? You shame me, Arthur." Uther Pendragon leaned on his desk, looking about ready to dismiss his son as he straightened his perfectly pressed dark suit.

"Father." Arthur stepped forward and bowed his head. "I apologize for the misunderstanding, but it was all blown way out of proportion. This...this is my new PA."


	3. The Coffeehouse

_(Since very many reviewers were noticing: YES, there's OOC in this chapter. Thanks for noticing. That's very good of you to notice. I hug you for noticing. But it's all right. All will be explained in due course, but YES, the OOC character is meant to be OOC. This is an explanation thing you must wait for because dang if the stupid characters aren't going to explain yet because that's in their nature and they keep secrets. Be calm. Have faith in shitty ff writers such as myself. ^_^)_

* * *

THREE

"What?" Uther and Merlin spoke at the same time, turning to stare at Arthur, and Arthur sent Merlin a warning glare as Merlin gaped in shock.

"Personal assistant?" Uther continued, seemingly not noticing Merlin's own question. "You always seemed to despise the idea of taking one on whenever I brought it up. What brought about the change? And why this…poorly dressed boy, of all people?"

"Merlin is very capable, sir."

"Really?" Uther was looking at Merlin critically now, who was now bristling at Uther's dismissal. He'd met enough people throughout his lifetime who had walked all over him to know what type of human Uther was.

"Yes, sir, you see, he saved my life."

"Saved your life?" Uther exclaimed, coming around to stand in front of the desk as he began to really appraise Merlin, the "savior" of his son, still quite skeptically. "How on earth did he do that?"

"He's quite brave. He pushed me out of the way of a truck, risking his own life."

"And you hired him on those grounds? Of course that's a reason to give him some small reward, but hiring him on? And is a member of the populace fit for the job?"

"I don't want ‒" Merlin began, but Arthur interrupted. "I met him on the plane, Father. He's not a part of the populace, as you call them, but he lost his wallet with all his money at the airport."

"All right, Arthur. What's the boy's name?"

"Merlin."

"Ambrose," Merlin mumbled, unable to correct Arthur that yes, he _was_ a part of the populace.

But quite suddenly, Uther's face was pure white.

"What? Did you say your name was Ambrose, boy?"

"I'm sorry, sir?" Merlin balked at the expression on the millionaire's face. Again that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He should tell Uther he was correct in his hearing, but everything inside of Merlin was telling him to lie, this man could not hear his last name, for whatever reason, because something horrible would happen that was not supposed to happen.

"No, sir." He started out quietly, but cleared his throat and continued strongly, holding down the nerves of lying. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid you misheard. My name is Merlin Arrose."

Arthur was now sending him an odd look, and Uther still stared at Merlin as though he'd seen a ghost, but the color was faintly returning to the head of Pendragon Company's face. He nodded sharply, looking unnerved. "Very well," he wavered, exhaling shakily. "I shall see you at another time, Arthur. Get out, both of you. Get out, boy!"

Merlin beat a hasty retreat, Arthur not far behind. As the doors closed, Arthur turned and whapped Merlin over the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" Merlin demanded.

"What were you being such an idiot for?"

"Excuse me? You were the one being a prat!"

"A _prat_?!" Arthur exclaimed, his jaw dropping in incredulity. "What the _hell_, Merlin? I just saved your ass!"

"No, you didn't. You didn't even tell me anything about this and all of a sudden I'm your assistant? What if I didn't want the job, Arthur?"

"You didn't have _anything_ and I gave you _everything_. You know how many people would kill to have this job? You should be thanking me!"

"I saved your life and you sign me up without asking for a job under Uther Pendragon? No offense, maybe he has money, but have you heard of your father's reputation, Arthur? I may have wanted a job, but a job where I'll actually be treated as something other than dirt under the shoes of my boss! I've worked more than enough of those jobs for a lifetime!" Merlin could hear the strangled tone his voice was taking, but he couldn't help it. "I've had so much shit happen to me over the past few years, but it's starting to come to a head. I…I can't."

Arthur was staring at him, looking slightly chastised. Finally he turned away, but then he turned back. "Listen, it's not under Uther. It's a job under me. You've got some family members with cash, don't you? A rich family, right? You're too young to have made it on your own. I'll just…I'll employ you until you can contact them." He looked uneasy, and after a long awkward pause, he met Merlin's eyes guiltily. "I mean, they don't say I'm bad with managing people, do they?"

"N‒no." It really was too late for Merlin to correct the misconception that they shared the roots of money. But a job. He did need a job. Now, before he had to start sleeping on the street. And as much as he hated the idea of having to work for the tyrant of a company head that Uther was rumored to be, he didn't have the luxury of refusing.

"No, I'll…I'll do it."

"Thank God." Arthur sighed in relief. "Now. I'm beat. Go get my morning coffee, will you?"

* * *

Arthur's drink of choice sounded like some exotic cocktail with everything in it but actual alcohol. Halfway through, the sweating Merlin spotted a notepad and pen lying on a nearby desk and snatched them up to frantically scribble it all down. When Arthur finally got to the end, there was a long pause.

"Can you maybe repeat that?"

It was another ‒ on Arthur's end, terse ‒ ten minutes before Merlin was sure he'd gotten the whole thing down, and another fifteen before the taxi arrived. Finally, three quarters of an hour after first receiving Arthur's order, the new PA found himself standing in line at the coffee shop Arthur had impatiently directed him toward to get the first coffee Merlin had ever bought that didn't come in a cheap Styrofoam gas station cup.

The place had a large enough group of patrons occupying the large but cozily elegant place to tell Merlin that the amazing smelling shop was popular, but by the time he reached the counter, the brief rush of customers had stopped and he stood, the only one in line.

"So, what's your order, Angelface?" The male barista grinned, finishing drying a coffee mixer and tossing the towel onto the back sink, leaning over the counter toward Merlin. His dark, long hair fell from his beanie, and the collar of his white button up beneath his red sweater was undone, echoing the way his white and red sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, showcasing lightly muscled arms covered in beautiful tattoos.

"Angelface?" Merlin questioned, unable to keep his eyes off the vibrant designs creeping their way up the man's arms into his sleeves.

"Of course, Angelface. You got ink?"

"No," Merlin murmured, fumbling in his bag for the notepad, his eyes still on the whirl of a vine of sea foam.

"So you like your men inked, huh?"

Merlin dropped the notepad.

"Oh, c'mon, Angelface. Calm down. You can close the closet door if you want to burrow back into the farthest corner again. You don't seem the type to take your coffee as plain old black…are you?"

"W-what makes you think I'm gay?" Merlin stuttered.

The tattooed barista tapped his temple. "You have to develop some form of gaydar these days, Angelface, or you'll never get any. Luckily I'm open on the gender of my partners."

Seeing Merlin's still nervous expression, the tattooed man shrugged. "Hey, keep your heteronormativity if you'd like. But give me a call if you ever change your mind."

He reached for a marker from his apron pocket and grabbed Merlin's hand.

Before the dark haired boy knew it, a number was Sharpied onto his palm.

"I don't…" Merlin sighed, then bent to pick up the notepad and one of the bills Arthur had given him. "I…can you make this?"

The barista's eyebrows rose out of sight beneath his beanie. "Arthur Pendragon, huh?" he asked quietly. His eyes flicked up to Merlin and back again to the notepad as he set it down on the counter and started mixing the drink. "How'd you come to be ordering for the big bad boss's son?"

"Boss?"

"Pendragon Company owns us. And they're cheap with wages too. Not to mention the blatant homo-and-everything-else-phobia. Thank God Pendragon himself doesn't oversee us or I probably wouldn't have been hired." Suddenly he stopped, staring at Merlin's scarf. "Hang on. You're…"

His eyes snapped back up to Merlin's face, narrowing, and then widening. "I thought I'd seen you somewhere! Are you his new _boyfriend_?"

"_Merlin_!" Someone was grabbing Merlin's arm in an iron vice and suddenly he was spun to face an irate Arthur. "Where the hell have you been? I swear it's been almost an hour and you're just standing here with your head in the clouds!"

"Sorry, Pendragon. I was the one keeping your boyfriend. You have any tattoos? Because he seems to love mine." The barista's gaze rested on where Arthur still held Merlin's arm.

Arthur turned, noticing the barista for the first time. His eyes narrowed immediately, glittering with loathing.

"What was your name? Oh yes. Lancelot."

Lancelot smirked. "Arthur."

* * *

_(I'm bad at updates. Apologies. I'm not done, just busy at the moment.)_

_(Also, reviews? My lifeblood and my only reason to continue this story. Thanks for them. You're all awesome.)_


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